


Every Crack, Every Wall

by proximally



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person, sentient city, spirit of amity au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 17:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proximally/pseuds/proximally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the city takes care of its own, but they had probably never intended it to be so literal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Crack, Every Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Written May 2014. Named after the lyric in Snow Patrol's song, _Take Back The City._

At first, you didn’t understand what you were feeling. You assumed it was a part of dying, this feeling of disconnect and dislocation. It was strange and sometimes unsettling, yes, but...it was nice, too. You felt unfocused sometimes, but the fuzzy sense of happiness that tugged at your mind could make up for far more inconvenience than that.

You remember when you first purposefully went ghost. You’d been standing there, in front of the bathroom mirror, willing the change that had crept up on you the other night; you still thought - and hoped - it had all been a bad dream, and you needed the confirmation. A flash of light - as bright as the one that had blinded you and left you screaming not a week before - and in the mirror was undeniable proof. White hair, green eyes, black jumpsuit. You were dead, at least a little bit. The despair you felt then was unlike anything you’d experienced before - that awful realisation that all your hopes and dreams were shattered and gone, everything you’d ever wanted now forever out of reach. Or so you thought - you were so young, so ignorant, how could you have known?

Your horror was perhaps not entirely a bad thing. It brought you to the attention of a creature - no, not a creature, a consciousness, vast and old and infinite in its compassion. It enveloped you, calmed your fear, assured you that everything would be alright, and it was surprised when you understood. Nobody had ever heard it so clearly before, or even acknowledged its existence. It was fascinated, and it kept you company as you fell asleep that night, warmed by its soft reassurances. You awoke that morning, and you felt it still - distracted, yes, but present, and when it realised you were up, it flowed back with a smile. The rest of that day you spent in a cloud of contentment - not even Dash could’ve brought you down. Sam and Tucker marvelled at the u-turn - you’d been so quiet and anxious recently. You couldn’t even begin to explain to them why, so you didn’t bother - you just told them, ‘I feel better now.’ and left it at that.

The next time you tried, you passed out. You’d been feeling confident, you were ready to face your reflection now. The last thing you saw was the light searing your eyeballs before you were drowned by a great crashing tsunami of love. You woke later with a lump on your head from where you’d hit the tiles, and feeling a terrifying absence of the warm presence you’d gotten so used to. You panicked, a little - you locked yourself in your room, and tried to call it back but it wouldn’t come. You didn’t realise that not all your fear and worry were your own - the consciousness didn’t dare hurt you again. You cried, that night.

The next morning, you feigned illness, and convinced your parents that all you needed was sleep. They were worried, but ultimately complied - they had too much to do down in the lab, and their Danny knew his own body, right?

You called again, and when that didn’t work you did the only other thing you could think of - you tugged at the strange empty spot in your chest and let the blinding white rings pass over you. Immediately, you felt the presence - your _friend_ \- around you, and you realised - your humanity dampened the connection. It had to throw all its strength into making you aware of it, and neither of you realised until it was too late that your ghost was so much more sensitive.

You felt its guilt, then, and you hastened to make it understand that you forgave it. How could you have known, how could it have known? As far as you were aware you were unique - maybe once you would have called yourself a freak, an abomination, but in the few short weeks since the Accident, you’ve come to accept it. Maybe it would wear off someday and maybe it wouldn’t; no point worrying about something you can’t do anything about, right? At least, that’s what the presence seemed to suggest.

Time passed, and you learned more about you new friend, just as it learned about you. You told it your aspirations - how you wanted more than anything to see the stars close-up and the Earth from a distance - and you told it your fears - both rational and not - and in return it showed you your world, in exquisite detail. You didn’t quite understand at first, but slowly you realised what, exactly, your new friend was, and you gave it a name. “Amity,” you whispered, “Amity Park. That’s...that’s you, isn’t it?” and a proud, motherly smile pressed at the edges of your mind.

You’ve been together a long time, now. You never told your friends or family about her - being half-dead and half-alive was logic-defying enough, without adding in a sentient city that mothered you more than your actual mother. Sometimes they wonder how you can be so cheerful about the whole ghost thing and all that it entails - being one, hunting others, getting hurt, screwing up your education, the whole kit and caboodle. Jazz, in particular, is terribly confused. She’s tried to have the conversation a dozen times, but it nearly always comes down to her yelling, _“But why aren’t you depressed?!”_ and you laughing at her frustration. You know she doesn’t _want_ you to be depressed - she’s your overprotective big sister, and your well-being is the highest thing on her priority list, even though you insist she should take care of herself first. More than anything she wants you to be happy, but she doesn’t understand why you are, and when she can’t logic her way out of a problem, she gets frustrated.

Maybe you’ll explain one day, ask her how you could possibly be unhappy for long when the entire _city_ loves you and supports you? Yes, she’s been a little pissy since you learned how to block her out, and subsequently caused the apocalypse because you didn’t want her whining in your ear about how cheating was bad. You’ll never make that mistake again - you don’t ever want her to know what that future-you did to her, and you still have nightmares. You were lucky not to pass out when you arrived - the sheer force of her grief could’ve taken you out of the picture for a while if you hadn’t been able to block it. You still felt her, though, still felt the broken bodies crushed beneath tons of stone and steel and the desperate panic of the survivors, and they haunt you more than anything else ever has.

It’s alright, though. That’s never going to happen, and no-one but you will ever know the true extent of future-you’s insanity. You can continue showing Amity places she’ll never see - from Wisconsin to the Ghost Zone, and everything in between - and she can show you the places, the moments you’ve never had time for - sunrise over the office buildings seen from a bird’s eye, the play of light through leaves on a warm summer’s day, the true beauty of a rainstorm. You show her the world, and Amity shows you yours.


End file.
